


Stolen Without Grace

by The_Adventress123



Series: A Life Lived With Grace [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Charlotte Watson, Fem!Sherlock, Femlock, Post HLV, Post His Last Vow, Rape, Rape Recovery, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-29
Updated: 2014-06-05
Packaged: 2018-01-26 23:46:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1706984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Adventress123/pseuds/The_Adventress123
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After an accident at John and Mary's, Sherlock wanders down the wrong alley. With nightmares hidingaround every corner, Sherlock has to deal with Moriarty's return, unplanned pregnancy, and the emotions that come with each. Fem!Sherlock<br/>This story has not been britpicked or gone over by anyone besides myself, so if you find a mistake don't be afraid to tell me.<br/>Note: Not my picture, not my characters. I got the picture from google. Characters belong to BBC Sherlock.<br/>Originally posted on Wattpad</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Intro

Sherlock walked down the street. She couldn't help but replay the scene at 221B over and over in her head.  
"Willow Sherlock Sarah Holmes," John had shouted. He never used her full name. He had known it for eight and a half months and he had never said it out loud.  
It had been an accident. She was just playing with Charlotte, John and Mary's daughter. She had turned for only a second and Charlie had tripped. John had been so angry, she had never seen him that angry. Charlie would only need a few stitches, but he had been so very angry.  
She shivered suddenly against the January cold. It had been nearly an hour since she had left, and she really should get back. John and Mart probably would've left to take Maggie to the hospital. She turned into an alleyway shortcut, not really noticing or caring about its lack of CCTVs. She turned a corner, leaving behind the streetview.  
She heard something behind her, but before she could turn a man landed on her shoulders. She landed hard and immediately felt her forarm snap. She fought against the arms dragging her towards the doorway. Snow began falling thickly around her and her attacker. She cried out and fought wildly. Her arm buzzed, the adrenaline doing its best to keep the pain away. Despite her best attempts to keep the man away, she found herself on her back in a doorway with far more broken bones than just her arm. One of the mans meaty hands pinning her thin ones above her head, the other covering her mouth.  
"You know I like it when they struggle," he whispered as he moved inside her, "The compliant ones are boring." He continued to whisper as she wished it would end. After at felt like an eternity, he finished. He left her there. Simply pulled up his pants and left.  
She lay for a minute, simply staring at the snow falling around her. It took all her remaining energy to simply whisper. "Help," she whispered, her voice broken beyond recognition. Her broken arm throbbed dangerously.  
"She's over here!" she heard the call go up. She turned to see Lestrade running towards her.  
She didn't want him to see her like this. Like some used crack whore, lying broken in the empty street.  
"Shit Sherlock," he muttered kneeling next to her. She felt him adjust her knickers and pull her skirt down.  
She moved her unbroken arm in some sort of meaningful half gesture. Her head throbbed dangerously where it had slammed into the pavement. Groaning slightly against her pain, she slipped into darkness.  
~~~~~  
Sherlock stirred. There was a faint beeping nearby along with the strong smell of antiseptics. Opening her eyes, she found herself staring directly into Mycrofts. "What's the damage?" she asked, feeling like she'd been hit by a car.  
"Broken nose, arm, 3 ribs and a cracked skull," Mycroft said boredly, "Other than that it's just a lot of bruising. It's obvious enough that you put up quite the fight."  
"Is John here?" Sherlock asked, purposely avoiding what Mycroft was trying to say.  
Mycroft nodded. "He doesn't know what happened," he said calmly, "Lestrade does, but other than that it's up to you to tell who you think should know." He stood and walked out, swinging his umbrella in his usual manner.  
Before he was even out the door, John rushed in, closely followed by Mary holding little Charlie tightly. As Sherlock had predicted, the little girl had several stitches across her forehead.  
"Jesus Sherlock," John cried, "I'm sorry for what happened, I didn't mean for you to get mugged."  
"It's not your fault," Sherlock said, "Besides, I've been through worse." She tried to smile, but it turned out as more of a grimace. "I should be out of here by the end of the day anyways."  
"Well I'll be stopping by every day until that cast on your arm comes off," John said firmly, "And I'll make sure Mrs. Hudson checks on you when I can't."  
Sherlock huffed and tried to cross her arms, causing Mary and Charlie to giggle when she couldn't.  
“Don’t re-injure yourself darling,” Mary laughed, setting Charlie onto Sherlock’s lap.  
“That’s not going to happen,” Sherlock muttered, “Besides, even if I did re-injure myself, the best place to do it would be in a hospital.” Everyone laughed and Sherlock got offended because she didn’t know what was so funny.  
They stayed and chatted for a bit longer about Charlie’s hospital visit. Even Charlie throwing in the occasional comment. Soon, Lestrade showed up and they had to take Charlie home. After quick goodbyes and promises to come and visit, it was just Sherlock and Lestrade.  
"I know why you're here," Sherlock said as soon as the door clicked shut.  
"It's for the report," Lestrade said, "Kinda important."  
"I don't know what he looked like," Sherlock said, throwing her head back to stare at the ceiling, "I was attacked from behind. He was also wearing a balaclava. All I can say is he was about twice my size, two hundred fifty pounds or so, and six foot five. He definitely has a broken nose and multiple bruises. Worked with his hands," she shivered at the memory of his hands, "Lots of yelling, I couldn't smell anything though.” She wiggled her nose experimentally, and winced, “He most likely works at a factory. You know enough about what happened from the state you found me in." She looked at him. "So how long was it before you got called in?"  
"After John took Charlie to the hospital," Lestrade began, "He went to 221b to apologize. Because you weren't home and it had been almost an hour, he called Mycroft. It took another forty five minutes to figure out which alleyways you most likely be in and another fifteen to locate you."  
Sherlock nodded. "They should be releasing me soon." She attempted to steeple her fingers under her chin, but was unable to due to her cast.  
"Yes," Lestrade said, "Is there anything else you'd like to the report?"  
"No," Sherlock said, quite bored with counting the spots on the ceiling.  
"Well if you need someone to talk to about what happened," Lestrade said, trying not to sound as uncomfortable as he felt, "Don't be afraid to give me a call."  
"What would I want to talk about?" Sherlock asked, even though she already knew the answer.  
"What happened to you tends to be a rather traumatizing event for most people," Lestrade explained, trying not to sound like he was insulting her.  
"We already know that I'm most definitely not most people," Sherlock snapped, signaling the end of their conversation.


	2. I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 2 weeks

The first night she was alone, she awoke screaming. The feeling that the man was in the flat with her. In an attempt to shake the feeling, she went and made a cup of tea, but she did not sleep for the rest of the night. The next morning when John came to visit, he found her trying to saw her arm cast off with a bone saw.   
The second night was the same, but the dreams were more vivid. When she woke, she found her own hand clamped tightly over her mouth. Barely muffled screams escaping from between thin fingers. She went to the kitchen, but found herself without an appetite. Mrs. Hudson found her on the couch in the morning, typing up an article on her laptop.   
On third night, she was too exhausted for nightmares. But that didn't stop them. Her screams brought Mrs. Hudson, who sat while Sherlock sobbed into her shoulder, telling her what had happened. Not caring about the time, just letting Sherlock let go. Sherlock woke up on Mrs. Hudson's couch.   
The nights continued like this for two weeks. Sherlock made Mrs. Hudson promise not to tell John. She didn't want him to worry about her. He gave her odd looks when he came to check on her and she was in Mrs. Hudson's flat, but never questioned her behavior.   
By the time her cast came off, everyone was relieved. There had been fifteen instances where someone had to stop her from cutting it off, and one where they'd had to go in and have it replaced.   
Afterwards while she was walking down to Molly's lab, a nurse came running after her. "Ms. Holmes!" called the small blue eyed girl, "Ms. Holmes!"  
Sherlock turned, knowing what the girl was there for and not wanting to hear it. She rolled her eyes in irritated nervousness, hoping beyond hope that she was wrong. "What?!" she snapped, wanting to escape the smell of sickness.   
"Um," the girl said, taken aback by Sherlock's sharp tone and cold gaze.   
"C'mon then," Sherlock cried, "I don't have all day."  
"Well, um," the girl stuttered, "You know how your brother had us do those blood tests?" She tangled her fingers together.   
"What about them?" Sherlock demanded.   
"There was a thing and," she lowered her gaze so as not to see Sherlock's expression, "You're pregnant."  
Sherlock furled her eyebrows. How could she be pregnant? She had been on birth control since meeting John. "Are you sure?" She asked.   
The nurse nodded and opened her mouth to say something more.   
Sherlock shook her head and walked away. She couldn't be pregnant. Or could she? When she thought about it, the signs were all there. She had definitely been eating more since the attack, and she'd put on several pounds, not to mention her sudden dislike of her favorite takeout. No, she refused to believe it.   
Without realizing how she got there, she sat at her lab station. Molly was bustling about behind her, doing something or other with an alcoholics liver. It hit her then of all times who the embryo's father was. She looked at the slide-less microscope, a sob building in her chest.   
"What're you working on?" Molly asked in an attempt to make polite, though awkward, conversation.   
Sherlock didn't answer. She didn't trust herself to speak. She had to get rid of it. Her hand ran over her still perfectly flat stomach. No, she couldn't. Two weeks along. If she didn't get rid of it, what would she tell everyone?  
"Sherlock?" Molly asked, now sounding worried.   
Sherlock tried to put on a mask, but the emotions were too strong, too foreign.   
"Are you alright?" Molly asked, her voice feather light, aside from the slight scratch of a recent cold.   
Yet somehow Sherlock only heard the scratchiness. She cried out in surprise, turning quickly and falling off her seat, almost rebreaking her recently healed arm.   
"Sherlock!" Molly cried out, helping the detective up. Once she was back in her seat Molly gave her a good long stare. "Sherlock," she said sternly.   
"Molly," Sherlock replied cooly, trying to sound like her usual self.   
"Sherlock," Molly said again, "Please tell me what's wrong. You aren't acting like yourself."  
"I'm perfectly myself," Sherlock lied.   
Molly wasn't buying it. "You've been staring at a slide-less microscope for nearly ten minutes," she cried, "And you haven't made any rude comments to the staff. Please Sherlock. You aren't you."  
Sherlock bit her lip. If she told Molly, Molly would just worry. She didn't want Molly to worry about her, John and Mrs. Hudson did enough of that. "Don't worry about it Molly," she muttered, "I'm just menstrating."  
Molly's eyes widened in embarrassment and she took a step back. "Oh, um," she stuttered, "Sorry for bothering you..."  
"Don't bother apologizing," Sherlock said, "I'm just going to head back to Baker Street." She climbed off her seat and headed for the door, not wanting Molly to see the tears pricking the corners of her eyes.   
"Sherlock," Molly called, "If there is anything wrong, don't be afraid to tell me. I'll help you through."  
Sherlock stopped for less then a second. Part of her wanted to be a normal girl and run sobbing into Molly's arms. A larger part forced her to walk away, a tear slipping from the corner of her left eye.   
She didn't try to catch a taxi. Instead she walked. It was longer than she expected, but she did need to think.   
She was pregnant. That was more or less confirmed. She didn't know, and really didn't want to know the father. She was pregnant because she had been raped. She didn't want to get rid of it because of emotions she didn't understand. Lastly, while she knew John would find out about the pregnancy sooner than later, she didn't want him to find out what had really happened that night. She catalogued these thought, thinking and rethinking them. Following familiar pathways, while tracing alien thoughts.   
She turned on her heel and looked up. It was the alleyway, still covered in a thin black slush. A small part of her said to go in, survey the crime scene, be Sherlock Holmes. She turned and called a cab, vowing that she would never walk between those buildings again.


	3. II

She was sleeping on Mrs. Hudson's when morning sickness hit her. She sprinted to the bathroom, and violently expelled the contents of her stomach. She didn't know how long she sat with her head in the toilet before she felt a hand on her shoulder. When she sat back, she found she wasn't looking at Mrs. Hudson as she would've expected. Instead Mary's soft grey eyes gazed down upon her.  
Her resolve crackled, threatening to break forth.  
"Geez Sherlock," she murmured, unawarely quiet, "Are you okay?"  
"Fine," Sherlock said, but her head shook. She was not okay. She was anything but okay.  
Mary reached over and flushed the toilet. "I don't appreciate when you lie to me," she said as she turned back to face Sherlock, "Please tell me what's wrong darling."  
Resolve sprung a leak and a tear slid down Sherlock's left cheek. She choked back a sob. Kind arms wrapped around her shoulders as she cried. "Sh," Mary cooed, "It'll be alright."  
"No it won't," Sherlock sobbed, "It won't be alright."  
Mary pulled away and looked Sherlock dead in the eye. She looked sharp and professional, on her way to work. Dropping Charlie off at Mrs. Hudson's. "Sherlock," she said, "I can't help you if you don't let me."  
Sherlock sat back against the wall. "I wasn't mugged," she muttered, "I wasn't mugged, and now I'm pregnant."  
Mary gasped. What Sherlock said left little to the brilliant mind. "Why didn't you tell us?" she asked.  
Sherlock shook her head. She didn’t know. At the time it had seemed like a good idea, but now, with Mary holding her by the forearms, she broke down for the second time that morning. Somehow she found herself unable to put into words what she had been reminding herself only the night before. Mary helped her up and brought her into the living room where Mrs. Hudson was playing with Charlie.  
“Ahma?” Charlie asked, “Er-ah eye?” Being only just over six months old, she wasn’t really able to form real words, but anyone who spent time around her knew this meant, “Mama? Sherlock cry?”  
“Don’t worry about it darling,” Mrs. Hudson said to the child, “Why don’t we get some tea and give your mummy and Sherlock some alone time.” She swept out of the room before Charlie could respond, leaving a tense silence in her wake.  
It was a full minute before anything was said, surprisingly it was Sherlock who spoke. “I didn’t want you to worry,” she said softly, “I was supposed to be fine.”  
“Even sociopaths can have emotions,” Mary said, her hand rubbing small circles on Sherlock’s back.  
“Aren’t you supposed to be at work?” Sherlock asked suddenly.  
“I called in sick when Mrs. Hudson told me you were sick,” Mary explained simply, “John and I have known something was up since that night. You’ve been spending too much time with her.”  
“Is it really that obvious?” Sherlock demanded. She didn’t want them to know. She was supposed to be unbreakable. People were only supposed to worry about her because she was reckless and didn’t care. They weren’t supposed to know how much she cared.  
“You’re not made of stone,” Mary told her, “Besides, even diamonds can be cracked.”  
Sherlock let more tears slip from her eyes. Mary stayed for a little while longer. Eventually Mrs. Hudson emerged from the kitchen with a hot cup of tea. She had put Charlie down for a nap giving her a chance to talk with her girls. After crying with Mary, Sherlock found that she felt as if a large weight had been lifted from her shoulders and she laughed along with the others, unknowingly letting her fingers brush her stomach.  
Mary left later in the evening. Charlie sleeping in her arms. "I promise to come back," she said and kissed Sherlock's cheek.  
Sherlock went up to her flat. Something was different. She walked around, the corners still darkened in the corners of her vision, and strange eyes still bore into her back. Yet something was definitely different.  
Mary kept her promise and took the rest of the week off. She stayed and chatted with Sherlock. They blatantly avoided the subject instead letting it hang over them like a dark cloud. One part in particular bothered both of them, Sherlock more than Mary. How and when would she tell John?


End file.
